


Eladrin: Dawn

by GilkBareblade



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:00:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25739977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GilkBareblade/pseuds/GilkBareblade
Summary: Eladrin. A world of magic and wonder like so many others, drifting through the Astral, three small moons spinning in harmony. But darkness lingers in the depths of the void, hungry and primal. And it is about to find Eladrin due to one very curious wizard. Will these intrepid heroes be enough to save the world they just cast into danger?Co-posted on Fanfiction.net every Sunday!





	1. Chapter One

Eladrin: Dawn  
  
Chapter One

  
  


The interior of the tavern was loud, people laughing and drinking, thick plumes of smoke from long pipes and the clinks of silver coins being tossed about as many card games played out. Older veterans traded stories they’d all shared a hundred times before, while tavern maids walked about with great platters bearing mugs of frothy Peppered Mead for any to take for a few copper pence. 

Melfice kicked off the gathered snow from his boots, pulling down the cowl of his traveling cloak to look for the man who’d posted the wanted flyer. Pulling it from his pocket, he unwrinkled it and looked at the neat pen strokes that spelled out his next job, if all went well.

“Horatio Smytheson in search able-bodied adventurers to find lost heirloom from Blackmire Stretch.” He mumbled, crinkling the paper when he confirmed that his employer said he’d be holding interviews tonight at dusk.

Peering out the stained-glass window front, Melfice narrowed his eyes. Sun was just beginning to set, so he had an hour, perhaps an hour and a half, before he’d be needed.

“Perhaps a drink?” He muttered, eyes scanning the room, lingering on the gentle curves of a few of the tavern maids. “Maybe more, if I’m lucky…”

Walking into the room, he slipped through the crowd and made his way up to the bar, where he flagged down the barkeep. An older man with more paunch than anything else, he had great mutton chops of wiry white hair and a slight comb-over, with a ruddy complexion balancing a pair of greasy glasses on the end of a bulbous nose. He gave a quick laugh and wiped down the bar in front of Melfice as he approached.

“Come in, lad!” The man laughed, waving a hand behind him where an assortment of dusty bottles stood in neat rows against the mirrored glass. “Fancy something to ease the chill from your bones, eh?”

“Just a Peppered Mead, please,” Melfice asked, sliding six pence onto the bar, “and perhaps any information you have on a Master Smytheson?”

“Ah, you’re one of them, then?” The barkeep chuckled, pulling a frosted mug from a trough of snow below the bar. He walked to the wall and pulled a tap that jutted out, one of three, and filled the mug to the brim. “You’ll be wanting to go ‘round back hall with doors to private rooms. Ol’ Horatio rented room three, and there are already a few of you waiting there.”

“Oh?” Melfice took his drink and sipped it tenderly. The drink was spicy and bubbly. “Anything noteworthy?”

The barkeep shrugged. “Big fella with a shaggy Arguile with him, damn thing pissed twice before he got it back there, think he might be a Shaman, mebbe a Druid… a wee lass, dressed in vestments of an Acolyte of the Red Harvest. Couple thuggish looking men with more scars than common sense, the likes you see skulking about every job offer… then, there’s you.”

“Me?” Melfice gave a soft smile. “You seem to have a measure of what the others are, what do you think I am?”

“A mongrel elf if I’m not mistaken. The way you seem to ghost your hand over that journal attached to your hip with a length of chain makes me think you’re a wizard, most likely a fresh apprentice looking to make a big haul. That sound right?”

Melfice flushed, glancing away when he spotted the massive bartender’s smile grow wide. “Didn’t take you for a racist…”

“No offense, just saying what I see.” The man slapped the bar top once before turning to fish another mug from the snow. “Lemme give ya a drink on the house for my manners.”

Before Melfice could turn it down, the man slid the full mug over to him, the foamy top spilling over the edge and splashing on the bar top. A man, a laborer if the calloused hands, thick arms, and musky smell, threw an arm over Melfice’s shoulders and sang. Several of his friends raised their mugs and sang along, one calling over the off-tune melody.

“Hey now, can’t have a full mug while the rest of us drain our last!” The man laughed, earning jeers from the surrounding people, “drink your fill, or be the next to buy a round!”

Panicked, Melfice began chugging his first drink, most spilling down his chin and onto his fur-laden robes, a round of bawdy laughter filling his ears as he drank deeply. The song continued until he finished his drink, letting out a large belch as his head swam. The men cheered, applauding as they pressed his second mug into his hands. He threw the arm off his shoulder and raised a hand as if warding them away.

“I, * _urp*,_ must go, things to do you see…” Melfice tried, doing his best not to panic from the close contact.

Luckily, the barkeep came to his rescue, snapping a dirty towel at the elbow of one man. “Here now, the lad has business in the back! Leave him be, or I’m cutting you off and sending you home to your wives!”

“Yer a cruel man, Billy!” One man cried dramatically, earning a round of laughter from the others.

Melfice walked past them towards the hall leading to the darkened backrooms of the tavern. It ran parallel with the open tavern hall, with three doors opposite the wall leading to the bar, another at the far end of the hall leading to the kitchens. The doors were numbered up to three, and Melfice stopped before the one the barkeep had claimed he was supposed to wait in. Looking over himself, he frowned.

“Dirty fools, they got me soaked in mead!” Melfice growled, snapping his fingers of one gloved hand. A twist of energy, a slight cool breeze shifting down the hall, and his robes dried up and grew warm, the stain vanishing. “An ill omen for me if ever there was one…”

Opening the door, Melfice walked into the room and allowed his eyes to adjust. It was perhaps twenty feet long, and just as wide, with a gigantic table dominating the center, a great oval with deep-cushioned chairs. They filled four, soft muttering between two of the men punctuated by a pair of low whines and panting. A young woman, blonde hair pulled into twin braids that went down her white vestments, looked up from her tankard as if she’d been lost in thought. An older man leaned back in a chair he’d positioned against the far wall, a two-headed wolfhound panting at his feet with one head while licking itself with the other.

“Are you Mr. Smytheson?” The young priestess asked, eyebrow raised.

The older man snorted, earning wary looks from the two younger men sitting in the middle of the table. “Him? Nah, look at him. Wizard, most likely. That or a scribe, and I doubt we’d see one at a job like this.”

“Don’t like wizards,” one of the younger men, a lanky man with tanned skin and long brown hair in ringlets running down his back, grumbled. “That’ kind of power… ain’t right.”

His friend, another callow man with similar skin tone bearing an eyepatch over his right eye and several scars running alongside the right side of his face and neck, snorted. “Your just too dumb to realize how useful the blighters can be. Never change, do you Wheeze?”

The aptly named Wheeze gave a choking, dry chuckle. He took a long drink off his tankard and lowered his eyes to his drink rather than respond. The old man, dressed in faded leathers, waved a hand at the table before Melfice. “Welcome, young man. I imagine our host would want us to be on acceptable terms, should we end up working together? Come, share a drink and a tale.”

Melfice stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. He dropped into a chair with two seats between him and the Priestess on one side, and two seats between Wheeze on the other. The old man gave a minute nod as if Melfice had passed some unknown test.

Choosing to not be bothered, he cleared his throat. “So, um… my name is Melfice. Melfice Nelfeshne. And yes,” he said, giving a pointed look at Wheeze. “I am a Wizard. I’ve been a licensed arcanist for about three weeks and have run low on funds—”

“Happens when ya spend all yer money on weird shit fer evil magic,” Wheeze whispered to his friend, who thumped him on the shoulder. Melfice ignored him and pressed on.

“—so I’ve chosen to work with others to gain some quick gold.”

“Smart. Self-serving, but to each their own…” the old man said, reaching down a withered hand to rub one of the Arguile’s panting heads between the ears. “You two, you’ve been chummy. Friends from past jobs, I gather?”

Wheeze gave another rasping chuckle, allowing his cohort to answer. “Yeah, could say that. Names Needles, this here’s Wheeze. He’s the muscle, I’m the brains. I know how to pick a lock, sniff out hidden shit, the works. Wheeze? He just bashes things that get in our way with whatever his weapon of the week is.”

“Got me a new broadsword off tha; last gig, the one from that bandit fella? Wit’ tha hair?” Wheeze offered, taking a sip of his mead.

Needles nodded, shaking his head. “Yeah, ‘member him now. Heh. He screamed _loud._ ”

The Priestess pouted at this statement, Melfice noted, though he saw he wasn’t the only one. The old man had spied it too, though what he thought of her reaction Melfice couldn’t tell. He instead looked to the Priestess as the old man waved a weary hand at her.

“And you?” He asked, though his tone was a tad softer, nay, kinder than when he’d addressed the two violent mercenaries.

The woman jumped in her seat when she realized they had addressed her. “Oh, me? Yes, I suppose so… well, my name is Elena Leafmender. I’m a Daughter of the Red Harvest. I’m a trained healer and can channel a bit of power from my Lady to mend wounds and knit together broken bones. I’m doing this job for my reasons, though I’m afraid I’d rather not share them with you if it’s all the same.”

“Fair enough,” the old man said, pulling a pipe from the confines of a side satchel. “Names Skellington Wildbough. Druid of the Ashen Pine, though I doubt that means much to any of you…”

“The Ashen Pine is a druidic sect that has settled in the taiga’s north of the Cross Mountains, before the Frigid Wastes. You all train to withstand the cold and channel the colder aspects of nature magic. You all revere… Grandfather Winter?”

Skellington nodded slowly. “Close. Greatfather Wynter. The rest… spot-on, lad. Bit of a reader, are you?”

Melfice fought the sudden blush he was feeling from the praise. “Yes, um. k-kind of c-comes with being a wizard, I-I suppose.”

Elena stared at him in awe, as if he’d just performed some amazing miracle. “That was amazing! How did you know that?”

Melfice didn’t know what to say, so instead shrugged and drank some of his mead. He could feel the alcohol lifting his spirits, though he knew better than to get too chatty.

“Any idea where this Smytheson guy is?” Wheeze groused. “Getting’ bored jus’ sittin’ here listen’ to all you jawin’.”

“Best to be patient,” an unknown voice said from behind Melfice, gathering everyone’s attention. They turned to regard the smiling man that’d just slipped into the room, a bundle of scrolls under his arm. “Because wonderful things come to those who wait, my friend, and I believe we’ve all waited long enough!”  
  



	2. Chapter Two

Eladrin:Dawn  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Melfice frowned into his drink as the strange man walked to the center of the table and to dump his gathered scrolls out in a messy pile. He looked tired, ringed eyes behind worn spectacles, a leather overcoat wet from the frosty winds outside, a small dagger sheathed on his belt with fresh clean leather straps. Not the man to handle a weapon enough to leave sweat stains over the handle… probably meant this was a man who liked to pay for people to do his dirty work.

“Lord Smytheson,” Skellington greeted, raising his tankard in greeting. “We were all just getting to know each other.”

“Yes, very good, very good!” Smytheson said, nodding as he adjusted his glasses. “Now, we all know why we’re here—”

“Um,” Elena said, interrupting Smytheson. To the man’s credit, he let his own words trail off as he looked at the young priestess. “I, um, don’t know… why… we’re here.”

“None of us do, ya barker!” Wheeze rasped, leaning over the table. “Speak some sense and mention the coin, or I’ll be on my way!”

“Calm down now, Wheeze!” Needles laughed, slapping the lanky man on a wiry shoulder. “Let the man catch his breath before we haggle!”

“I agree though,” Melfice hummed, setting his tankard down, “knowing the job, and what you’re paying, would make it easier for us to focus on what specifics need to be acknowledged.”

“Oh.” Lord Smytheson seemed lost for a scant few seconds before he shook his head and snatched up a narrow length of the rolled-up scroll. “Best to start at the beginning!”

“Tends ta help,” Wheeze whispered, earning a wicked chuckle from Needles.

Smytheson smoothed back some of his hair, unfurling the scroll with his free hand.

“This!” He declared, waving a hand at an intricate drawing of a scepter. “This is the Scepter of the Fallen King of Netres!”

Melfice furrowed his brow as he thought of where he’d heard of that city. It was a dwarven one, close by from what he could recall. Fell into the earth when the mines beneath it collapsed because of an earthquake.

“The Sinkhole City?” Skellington inquired, showing he knew of it. Melfice have him a respectful nod.

Smytheson smiled, broad, and pleased. “The same! Over the years, plenty of scholars have taken brave truth seekers to find ancient treasures, and mostly they have picked the city clean.”

“But?” Needles asked, leaning back in his chair, hands folded behind his head.

“But they never found the Scepter,” Smytheson concluded. “For nearly two-hundred years, it’s been assumed to have been smuggled away. Until they spotted it in the hand of some Marques.”

Everyone gathered winced at that. The Marques were bestial, insignificant creatures with long hairless limbs and moist skin that could shift in hue and texture. They all wore wooden masks that depicted a random emotion and were considered enough of a threat that they formed militia every Summer to romp through the surrounding foothills to kill as many as possible.

“Well, right then!” Needles clapped his hands, rubbing them together greedily. “We’re busting Marques heads? How many are we talking?”

“I’m afraid it’s more… delicate than that,” Smytheson said, reaching for a third scroll. Unfurling it, he showed a collection of runes that were painted in large brusque shapes, with smaller brushstrokes dedicated to detailing theories on how they worked. “The Scepter has some fresh additions to it. Namely, a collection of Elven runes that seem to grant it bizarre power.”

“Elven?” Skellington repeated, eyes lingering on Melfice. He could feel everyone else lock-in and stare. “How old?”

Smytheson heaved a sigh and gave Melfice a long look, offering the scroll. “Maybe you,” he said, nodding at the young wizard, “can shed some light on that. Do you recognize them?”

Melfice frowned, taking the scroll, and turning it over to study the arcane writing. He mouthed the words to the theories, brow furrowing as his mind raced. He set the scroll down and pulled his grimoire off his belt, the chain connecting the spine of the boom to his hip jangling merrily as he unfastened the leather strap. Muttering the short incantation to lift the protective spells over the worn leather, he flipped through the first few dozen pressed vellum pages, before stopping on two that depicted an expanded alphabet of similar sigils.

“Old. Ancient, I’d wager around twelve-hundred years. The curve you see in the bottom of volt here?” Melfice said, tapping the bottom of one of the alien symbols. “That started happening during the Second Dynasty in the Farl Lands. They unified their language and started having mass instruction in it, so everyone started writing like this.”

“Tha’s righ’ interestin’, it is.” Wheeze groaned, rubbing his temple as if staving off a headache. “I love hearin’ bout ancient history as much as tha next guy, ask Needles…

“Avid reader, he is!” Needles agreed solemnly.

“And as much as I think we all know this answer, explain fer those of us tha’ are a bit… dim.” Wheeze finished. “Wha’ the three blazes does any of tha’ matter ta this?”

“It means the Scepter has been in the hands of elves, right?” Elena asked.

Melfice frowned. “Elves hate change, but even the staunchest conservative elder has had a shift in the way these runes are to be written. This version makes any of the controller runes lose power when funneling from the powering clusters. Crude, but effective so long as whatever you want to get done gets done fast.”

“Why would anyone want somethin’ done slow?” Wheeze asked as Elena and Skellington shared a glance.

Needles shrugged, while Skellington leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “They powering some kind of spell, then?”

Melfice nodded. “Something that requires the Scepter, and where it won’t matter if the hunk of metal survives whatever the spell is building up to.”

Smytheson cleared his throat, regaining the attention of the gathered mercenaries. Melfice felt a flush of embarrassment, he’d forgotten that their employer was even there!

“So glad to have an expert on something as delicate as Elven Runework!” Smytheson grinned. “The goal is simple: track down and retrieve the scepter from the Marques. Then, once it is safe, dismantle whatever the runes on the scepter are doing, and return it to me.”

“’Ow much?” Wheeze asked, hacking up a bit of grit.

Smytheson tugged at his collar, giving each adventurer before him a look. “I can offer seventy-five crowns per hired sword or spellslinger for the safe return of the scepter, along with two-hundred crowns of credit within my store. I have a fine collection of swords and shields, bows, tomes of knowledge, both religious and eldritch.”

They all mulled over the offer, with only Needles vouching that he and Wheeze were in within seconds. Elena had clasped her hands before her and seemed to pray, while Skellington had lit his pipe and was taking a few experimental puffs from it.

Melfice crossed his arms and did his best to appear deep in thought, while also doing his best not to break into a wide grin and let out a yelp of relief. He was on his last five crowns from his savings, and the room at the inn was only paid for until tomorrow night. He’d been doing his best to stave off the need to risk himself for mere material gain, but his components for his spells alone were quickly dwindling his options.

He had to take this job, and he had to get that credit. He could snag a few suitable pieces of jewelry perhaps and find a different merchant to sell them to. Even if he only got fifty from the original two hundred, that would be a boon for his finances that would give him months of simple living.

“Expenses.” Skellington yawned, stretching his arms over his head with a contented sigh.

“I beg your pardon?” Smytheson asked, confused.

Skellington returned the pipe to his lips for a long drag. “Expenses. We’ll likely have to buy some gear to go trekking wherever these Marques have set up their nest. That’s an undue expense on our part.”

“Undo?” Wheeze asked, sparing a glance at Needles. “What’d we mess up now?”

“Ain’t us this time!” Needles agreed, sitting up straight.

“Quiet, you two,” Skellington said, not looking away from Smytheson. “I want us each to be given at least ten crowns to buy necessary gear. If we’re hunting Marques, they’ve either headed into the mountains, or down to the mires. As you advertised for people willing to go into Blackmire this time of year, you must realize we’ll need something to keep us safe from the elements, right?”

“I-I’d just assumed that, you know, you all would have that sorted out on your own?” Smytheson said, almost as if asking for permission to have this opinion. “I mean, you all are mercenaries, right? I would expect you to come prepared for your job, at the very least.”

Skellington raised a bushy eyebrow. “The last job I had was hunting down a rogue bear that’d been picking off some of a local herdsman’s Caribou. I didn’t have to worry about Swollen Botflies, leeches, or Luna Moths. I have the gear to hunt a bear if you want to pay me for that. If not, outfit me to spend a week or two in the frozen swamp.”

“That seems fair…” Elena muttered, barely loud enough for any of them to hear. “I barely have enough to pay for my next meal, no way I can get the poultices and tonics to needed for venturing into a swamp!

“Yeah, I’m thinking old Skelly here knows something that we don’t!” Needles laughed, slapping Wheeze on the back. “Right then, you want us on board, toss us twenty crowns for shopping coin!”

“Could use a new hip flask, now tha’ I’m thinkin…” Wheeze mumbled blearily, peering into his tankard. “Empty…”

“Now hold on…” Smytheson began. “I don’t have the liquid capital to just issue—”

“I’m a skilled tracker and wielder of the elemental power of thunder,” Skellington intoned, grunting as he pushed himself to his feet. “She is a Priestess of the Red Harvest, a skilled healer who can mend mortal wounds with but a word. He, “Skellington motioned to a surprised Melfice, “is a student of the arcane, one who can bend the laws of reality with but a gesture. We are worth the additional funds, my good man, so I suggest you find the liquid capital if you wish for your piece of ancient history!”

The room went silent as Skellington’s voice rose, reminiscent of a rumble of a storm towards the end. Elena was giving the older man a tearful smile, while Melfice could only nod at what the man had just declared.

Wheeze’s rasping cough broke the silence. “An’ wha’ bout us, then?

Skellington, realizing that the lanky man was asking him the question, turned to regard him. “What do you mean?”

Wheeze motioned between himself and Needles, who was frowning deeply. “Tha ‘Ell you on abou’ what do you mean? You talkin’ up yerself and the runt, and the wee lass, but wha’ bout me boy and me?”

Skellington continued to stare into the bloodshot eyes of the inebriated warrior, before snorting a chuckle. He turned and gave Smytheson an exaggerated eye roll. “And these two are likely wanted criminals that have been wild murder-hobos for the past few years. They’re likely deadly and can kill anything before it hurts the rest of us.”

Skellington turned to look at Wheeze as Melfice and Elena shared a round of quiet laughter. “There, that better lad?”

Wheeze gave a horking choke of a laugh, wiping a tear from the corner of his beady eyes. “Yer a wordsmith, Skelly, that yew are. Never ‘ave been one fer speeches, but tha’ was a right good ‘un, once yew added me an’ Needles.”

Needles lifted his tankard in a toast. “Agreed!” He moved to take a drink, then pulled a face. “Huh, thought I had a few gulps left?”

Wheeze, his back to Needles was quickly chugging from his tankard, where he’d poured the last of his friends Peppered Mead as stealthily as possible.

Smytheson heaved a sigh, a weary grin on his face. “Fine, should I wish this venture be underway, I may need to finance a round of shopping for the barest of necessities. I can offer eight extra crowns per man—”

Elena cleared her throat, earning chuckles from the gathered mercenaries.

“—er, you know what I mean! Just take the extra funds and spend them wisely! I’ll leave you to your revelry, dear gentlemen, though I will offer the scrolls to you, dear boy.” 

“Melfice,” Melfice said, nodding in greeting.

“Yes, I apologize, I never got your names…” Smytheson said, shaking his head to remain on task. “Take them and study the reports I have gathered from the various patrolmen. I believe you and Mr. Skelly, was it? Yes, I believe you two can glean where these Marques could have holed up with this rare antiquity!”

With a few exchanged handshakes and offered sacks of golden crowns, the group of mercenaries found themselves to be allies for the foreseeable future and decided it would be best to bond over a shared meal. Unfortunately, Wheeze and Needles made a risqué suggestion to a youthful woman sharing her anniversary dinner with her husband and started a brawl that led to the town guard arresting eleven villagers and Wheeze himself.

Skellington (“Just call me Skelly, you two. Seems like it’ll be the best I can get from our other two comrades.”) and Elena (” Sister is fine, or El. Or Elena. It doesn’t matter, whichever you prefer!”) had conferred with Melfice in the early morning outside the tavern, agreeing they would all meet to collect Needles from his hiding place in the outhouse, bailout Wheeze and set out for the Blackmire as the sun rose on their backs.


	3. Chapter Three

Eladrin:Dawn  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Melfice’s pounding headache did little to aid his foul mood as he wrapped his scarf around his neck for the third loop. The thick wool was amazing and had a runic tag attached to it that made it heat for thirty seconds out of every minute. His favorite graduation gift from his Master when the apprenticeship had ended, though the bottle of Everchill he’d been smuggled had been a keen friend several lonely nights ever since.

“Ugh, I can’t think about booze right now…” Melfice groaned, rubbing his growling stomach.

The inn he’d been staying at had woken him after a scant two hours of sleep.

Someone had overturned a small bucket of coals in the middle of the night and started a small fire. It had hurt nobody, thank the gods, but he’d been robbed of sleep and his morning breakfast and tea.

He needed his tea.

He had left in his luggage, wrapped in thick linen was a little more than a pound of Rosehue Goldenrod petals and leaves just begging to be strained and brewed for his morning ritual.

Instead of relaxing by a wood stove drinking his second cup of soothing tea while memorizing some trickier equations for his favorite spells he was trudging through the snow pelted streets towards the wharf district, where the tavern they’d met at last night sat at the corner, across from a fishmonger and a barber. Heaving a sigh and doing his best not to choke on the aroma of stale fish being carried by the netful into the stalls close by, he raised his eyes from the ground and looked about any sign of his new “friends”.

He winced. Damn, I felt the sarcasm there, and I didn’t even mean to do it! I need my tea, damn it…

Melfice jumped when Needles stepped out from a narrow alleyway, a few stray bits of leftover food being brushed off by his dusty hands as he yawned and stretched. Even standing as slouched as he was, he had an even foot of height on the slender wizard. His studded leather chest plate and padded arm guards and leggings showed he valued mobility over being able to take a hit, and the sheer number of scars stretching across his wiry frame showed he didn’t mind taking a hit now and again.

Or that he couldn’t dodge worth a damn.

Needles rubbed at his eyes with one hand while scratching at his rear with the other. “Slept in my jabbers, never good… gonna be itchy–wait, I know you.”

Melfice tried his best not to wince at how blunt that statement was and merely gave a wane grin. “Yes, hello… Needles? Is that, like, a… codename?”

Needles scratched at the back of his head and patted at his belt pouches absentmindedly. “By the Lords, you’re a chatty one, aren’t you? Yeah, call me Needles. Codename? Sure, why not?”

“Ah,” Melfice said, unsure of how to follow the odd answer up. “Well… shall we go get Wheeze out of jail?”

Needles had pulled a slim wrap holding a dozen hand-rolled cigarettes. Narrow eyes widened slightly as he scraped a tinder stick against his cheek, sparking it up enough to light his smokable. “Jail? Aw, shit… what’d he do this time?”

“Um, both of you made an offer to another patron to make her a sandwich,” Melfice said, raising an eyebrow as Needles began chuckling. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did she take such offense to that?”

“She the one with mountains over molehills, with the dickless husband?” Needles asked, huffing a bit of smoke.

“Mountains over mole… I don’t know what that means, but she had a husband. You referred to him as dickless a few times, I believe.”

“You believe?” Needles hiccupped.

Melfice flushed a bit. “I… may have a had a few too many meads last night.”

“You bite your tongue, you!” Needles said, glaring at Melfice before snickering. “Heh, ain’t such a thing as too many drinks, boy. Best learn that early unless you want to die of thirst later!”

“I have a bit of a spotty memory about last night, sadly,” Melfice continued, ignoring the odd bit of advice. “I can’t remember who threw the first punch, but I know you and Wheeze got thrown out because you started using chairs as weapons.”

“Oh… yeah, that’s never a good thing. Maybe we had a bit too much to drink…” Needles sighed, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Well… shit, let’s go bail his ass out then.”

“I imagine he will be pretty upset when he wakes up,” Melfice said, turning to walk alongside the long-legged man as they made their way down the chilly road to the jailhouse.

Needles snorted. “He’s right barkers best of times, I expect he’s got a dragon cracking inside his head.”

“… he’s going to do something that makes bailing him out more expensive, isn’t he?”

“I’d be amazed if he didn’t set his cot on fire when he finds out he can’t take a leak without five other drunks starin’ at him.”

They were joined by Skelly and his hound, Posnev, as they approached the entrance of the jailhouse.

The black shaggy dog easily weighed over two hundred pounds and stood nearly three feet at the shoulder. The heads were the size of large shovelheads, with heavy underslung jaws and jutting teeth that seemed designed to cause as much pain when biting as possible. As he bounded towards Needles and Melfice from across the narrow street, Melfice felt his life flash before his eyes.

Needles didn’t have the same worry, it seemed, as he bent low at the knees and accepted the tackling beast with a wide grin, cigarette hanging between yellowed teeth. “There you are, you great lout! Best pair of lads to drink with, right here!”

“I still can’t believe you two insisted Posnev needed to drink with us,” Skelly said with a dismissive shake of the head. He had his hands tucked into his thick overcoat, a part-cloak/part-robe with many pockets and tools strapped to it. “He had the runs all night.”

“Tha mead didn’t give him that, Skelly!” Needles laughed, rubbing each of Posnev’s massive heads between the ears, much to the duel-hounds immense pleasure.

“Yah, we slipped him like thirty o’ the fried peppers stuffed wit’ tha goat cheese!” Wheeze cackled from the top of the stairs leading into the jailhouse. “Yeh were too busy starin’ at tha barmaid and mutterin’ like an ol’ creep.”

Skelly grumbled under his breath as Wheeze and Elena walked out of the jailhouse. He had his leather jerkin thrown over his lightly muscled frame, stained from many spills and a bit of blood from a broken nose.

“I swear, those poor dogs! I’m not trained in how to help an Arguile with indigestion. What if it becomes an issue?”

Skelly snorted. “Please, Posnev is just a pair of babies. They eat practically anything, they’re a mobile compost pile. They get sick every other week.”

“There ya go,” Needles said, pointing two fingers gripping his cigarette at Skelly as he approached Wheeze and clapped him on the back. “Posnev’ll be fine, no worries.”

“Can we please go to the market to buy what we need for this venture?” Melfice interrupted, growing tired with how odd the conversation had become.

Skelly cleared his throat. “No need. Took the liberty to round up some crowns from each of you last night to buy what we needed.”

He turned to Elena, whose eyes widened as he reached into his backpack and pulled a slim case from it. “A medical kit, with extra doses of antivenins and a few herbal remedies for common illnesses that spread this time of year. I also bought three Healing Unguents from a shadier vendor, though I verified their quality myself.”

“Oh!” She chirped, accepting the case. “And what I gave you was enough? This seems like it might have been over four crowns…”

Skelly held up a hand. “I made it work, don’t fret. Now, for the two of you…”

Needles paused in his drag while Wheeze was lighting his morning smoke. Skelly fished out a pair of pewter and leather hip flasks. “They’re not silver, but I filled them with some Thunderbrew. Not the best quality, but I imagine you don’t mind a bit of burn…?”

The two took the flasks with almost a sense of reverence. “No sir,” Wheeze said around a lungful of smoke, living up to his name, “we don’ mind tha burn tha comes wit’ such a fine drink!”

“Ah, Thunderbrew!” Needles said, snatching his own flask and unscrewing the cap to take a savory sniff. “Reminds me of your mother. Well, that and crying after sex.”

The two traded a few blows while cackling at the other, earning a roll of the eyes from Skelly and a worried frown from Elena. He turned to Melfice and heaved a sigh.

“Nothing for me?” Melfice asked with a joking grin.

Skelly shook his head. “No, I found a few things. Some Knucklebones, a few maps of the marshes, and a wand with a few charges of some searing flame spell. I also got a few bottles of quick-drying ink and several sheaves of vellum just in case you need something to write on out in the field.”

“That should be more than acceptable!” Melfice declared, happy that the older druid seemed to be so keenly aware of what would be helpful. “Thank you.”

“Do not worry, I also picked up some dried meats and fruits for us to use as reserves if we’re too tired to hunt,” Skelly said, shouldering his backpack again. “I would have purchased some mules, but I fear that the Blackmire baring a reputation for quicksand would lead to such an investment’s grisly demise.”

“We’re walking there, then?” Melfice asked, already dreading the answer.

Skelly nodded. “It’s three days along the Polix Road, then another four, perhaps five, over marshland until we reach the actual Blackmire. Three separate reports mention a Marques wielding a strange scepter, all with the creature and its allies retreating into the Blackmire.”

Melfice heaved a sigh. “Well, glad I learned the Soothing Skin charm. My feet will be raw blisters by the end of today!”

“I know some excellent remedies to make medicated bandages that you can wrap your feet in to prevent such a thing!” Elena cried, raising her hand excitedly.

Wheeze snorted. “Wha’ kind o’ man needs somethin’ like tha, jus’ fer walkin’?”

Needles elbowed him in the ribs. “Hey, just cause you have the body of a boulder doesn’t mean tha rest of us can shrug off wear and tear!”

“If you could prepare a half dozen such wraps in the next hour, my dear?” Skelly asked, waving towards a small café situated down the street. An open-air tavern and restaurant for hungry dock workers, it had wide tables meant to seat ten to twelve.

Elena nodded. “Sure, that should work!”

“I can help if you’d like?” Melfice offered, following Elena as she rushed off.

Elena seemed enthused at the idea. “I didn’t know you studied medicine!”

Melfice shrugged. “A bit. I needed to understand basic anatomy for some extracurricular lessons I found in a few tomes.”

Skelly nodded. “It never hurts to learn extra skills. Good on you Melfice. If I may, I would like to observe so I might be of help the next time you prepare them for us.”

“Sure!” Elena chirped, racing down the street. Skelly and Melfice followed at a more sedate pace, with Wheeze and Needles arguing in their accented speech as the group meandered away from the jailhouse.

They spent the next two hours preparing some herbal poultices to wrap their feet in for a long trek. Even Wheeze took one, though he grumbled that it was unnecessary. Skelly purchased a platter of sandwiches and a jug of Orange Sunrise to aid in nursing their collective hangovers.

By ten that morning, they were walking out the gates to the small town, passing by the bored merchants and laborers bringing in daily shipments as they waited for the overworked town guard to inspect their belongings. Skelly entertained Elena and Melfice with tales of his youth and of wild adventures in the frigid taigas of the far north. Wheeze and Needles entertained themselves by throwing bits of dried meat to Posnev and sneaking swigs from their hip flasks.

All four were vomiting by the time they reached the first crossroads, earning a scolding from Elena and laughter from Skelly and Melfice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to add last Sunday, added on Fanfiction but not here... so, two updates!

Camping… was a new experience for Melfice.

He’d trained in some rugged terrain, that was true, but that was because the Basalt Tower was located high in the mountains north of Horinta, an expansive trade city that was shared by all the races of Eladrin. That being said, he rarely ever trained _outside_ the safety and warmth of the enchanted black structure rising from the cliffs overlooking the rest of the world below.

The Basalt Tower was home to dozens of high-tier wizards of various stripes, all under the leadership of Archmage Gravius Lorine.

The man that had, for whatever reason, decided to take Melfice under his wing when he’d first arrived as his sole apprentice.

Being a half-elf had kind of paid off, truth be told. Unlike the rest of his peers, he still retained his youth by the time his ten-year training was completed, appearing no older than a sixteen or seventeen-year-old man, albeit thinner and paler with slightly pointed ears. While they had to complain of their teenage years being spent stooped over a massive tome in a dark library by flickering candlelight, Melfice still had some growth to look forward to.

That being said, as he sat on a log that’d been hewn from a lonely tree off the side of the road by Skelly when they’d stopped for the day, staring at Needles and Wheeze as they struggled to hold down the thin broth Elena had forced upon them, he mused that _maybe_ he’d missed out on being around people that weren’t all bibliophiles.

After all, he’d never gotten to laugh at anyone for drinking too much and puking onto a druid’s two-headed war hound before being forced to run as said druid shouted what _had_ to be some rather colorful curse words in his secret dialect. The closest he’d come to this level of entertainment was when Thomas Macomber had snuck a bottle of what he’d thought was cooking sherry, only to down the bottle before realizing it was actually fermented Linnorm Oil.

He'd been drunk for _days_!

“Enough with that,” Skelly grumbled, stepping over Wheeze as he moaned miserably. “We only got an hour of daylight left. Maybe less, if I’m being fair. Melfice, you know how to make a campfire?”

Melfice shrugged. “I can conjure flames, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good enough,” Skelly nodded, kicking Needles in the side. “Come on then, you drunks, cut the branches good and proper while Posnev and I go hunt down some dinner. Some nice greasy rabbit should settle your stomachs, I imagine.”

“Yer a right bastard, yeh know tha’?” Wheeze groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows to scowl at Skelly. “I already heaved me innards while ya frog-marched us all day, least you could is let us rest a bit.”

Skelly snorted. “As I can’t see in the dark, I’d like a campfire ready and crackling by the time I get back. Going to be a chilly night.”

Melfice snorted at the understatement. A soft dusting of snow covered the fields that the road split, with ice-rimed weeds poking out of the frost here and there, icicles hanging from the scattered trees that were clumped together every dozen feet or so. Wrapped in his travelers’ cloak with the thick gloves and boots he so loved, Melfice _still_ felt like he was going to catch a cold just sitting here.

Elena didn’t seem to be faring much better, her thick scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulder so tightly he could barely see her sparkling eyes over the colorful stitching of the woolen garment. Her winter’s cloak and fur garments sparkled with specks of snow here and there, her cheeks rosy beneath her fuzzy hat.

Wheeze and Needles were each wearing their boiled leather chest plates and sleeveless jerkins beneath, baring their muscled arms to the frigid clime around them. From the way they were sweating, they didn’t seem to care that it was cold enough to preserve a corpse.

“Right then,” Needles grunted, heaving himself up to his knees. “Let’s get this over with then. C’mon you, before the druid goes barkers!”

He kicked at Wheeze, who waved him off as he pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly. They grumbled, picking up their swords as they coughed and hacked. Wheeze spat up a black sludge onto the ground, earning a shriek of fright from Elena. He gave her a wane grin, sludge dribbling down his chin.

“Wha’ thought ya were a healer? Never seen Black Lung before?” He rasped, hefting his heavy blade onto his shoulder.

“You have _Black Lung?_ ” She gasped, hand covering her mouth.

Melfice looked between the two. “No clue what that is, but it doesn’t sound good.”

“It isn’t!” Elena insisted, sparing Melfice a glance before looking back at Wheeze. “That could _kill_ you, what in the Lady’s name are you doing outside of a hospital?”

Wheeze shrugged. “Eh, somethin’ has ta kill me. Might as well earn some coin fer laughs and booze before I stop walkin’.”

“Braver priests than you have nagged him before, El,” Needles said, stopping near one of the thicker branches jutting from the log. “Just leave him be, he has medicine he takes for it.”

“There is no medicine for it!” Elena cried, shaking with indignation.

Wheeze raised an eyebrow. “There ain’t?” He reached to his hip and pulled up a waterskin, filling and heavy. “Wha’s this then?”

She snatched it from his hand and popped the cork from it to take a whiff, recoiling in terror. Melfice was sitting almost five feet away, and even _he_ could smell that awful stench.

A mix of charcoal and a latrine, it made his nose hairs curl up on themselves. He gagged, moving his arm over his nose. “Damnation, that is foul! Plug it up, quick!”

Elena did, looking positively green as she handed the waterskin back to the smirking mercenary. “What in the world is in that? It smells horrible!”

“It’s wha’ gives me my lovely mood yeh’ve all enjoyed,” Wheeze chuckled, rolling his head to the side with a manic grin. “A mix o’ some witch from tha south, Needles makes it fer me.”

Elena and Melfice looked over at Needles, who was using his long daggers to hack into the dead wood, cackling madly as he did so.

“He… doesn’t seem like the kind of person who knows much about herbal medicine.” Melfice said, trying to be delicate.

“You think your so tough, Nature? Bring it!” Needles crowed, stabbing the trunk to gain a handle hold, before ripping the damaged bough from the log in a show of brutal strength. “Ha! You ain’t got nothing, Nature, _nothing!_ ”

Wheeze shrugged. “’E’s alrigh’, knows more than ‘e lets on.”

“This _can’t_ be good for you!” Elena insisted, waving at the waterskin.

“Makes it ta where I can breathe,” Wheeze countered, “not breathing ain’t good, righ’?”

Elena stared at him, dumbfounded. Melfice just shook his head. “El, just… just let it go.”

“B-b-but…” She sputtered, clearly at a loss.

Elena glared at Melfice, puffing her cheeks. “He needs to take better care of himself! Do you know what could happen if he doesn’t?”

“I’d die, prolly.”

Both Melfice and Elena snapped their heads to Wheeze at the rather straightforward answer. Wheeze was studying them with his bloodshot eyes, looking either half asleep or very bored.

“I, uh, I mean, yes, you could die if you—”

“No ‘could’ bout it, little sister,” Wheeze coughed, shaking his head, “we come slidin’ outta our ma’s chute with an hourglass. No matter what ya do, no way to keep them last few grains o’ sand from fallin’.”

“But…but… you should still try and not speed it up!” Elena stamped her foot, clearly frustrated.

Wheeze gave a raspy chuckle, shrugging carelessly. “Why? I kill people fer money, girl. An’ they rarely let me do it twiddlin’ their thumbs. Odds are I won’t live to see the Black Lung claim me, an’ I should jus’ enjoy what time I got.”

“That’s… oddly poetic.” Melfice said after a few moments consideration.

Wheeze grinned, head lolling. “Yeah, tol’ yeh I was a scholar!” He turned to Needles, who had already hacked the bough into several manageable pieces. “’Ear that, ya lout? I’m poetic!”

“Lovely.” Needles drawled while wiping sweat from his brow. “Get over here and use a simile on this log, would ya? Going to be cold tonight.”

“Wha’s a simile?” Wheeze asked, walking over to study the sturdy trunk.

Needles shrugged. “No clue. Heard a few scribes arguing over it before when talking poetry, figured it meant something smart-like.” Needles leaned back, several pops echoing from his spine. “Probably could have found out if we made that beauty a sandwich last night.”

Wheeze laughed, slapping Needles on the shoulder before squatting to heft up the split logs. “Tha’ we would’ve!”

Melfice shook his head, frustrated. “A simile has nothing to do with food, you cretins!”

The two paused and spared a glance at Melfice before sharing a long look between each other. “Food?” Needles asked, clearly confused. “When in the blazes did we bring up food?”

“Boys barkers…” Wheeze shook his head, carrying a stack of firewood over to where Elena had laid out her supplies. “Though she looked good enough to eat, she did.”

Melfice heaved a sigh, turning to Elena before nearly jumping.

She was blushing redder than any rose he’d ever seen, eyes focused on her folded hands in front of her. She seemed desperate _not_ to look at any of them, though for what reason, Melfice couldn’t fathom.

Wheeze nudged him with an elbow, waggling his eyebrows. “Hey, looks like El here migh’ wanna talk poetry wit ya!”

Needles let out a loud guffaw. “Ha! ‘Talk poetry!’ That’s great, have to remember that!”

Melfice opened his mouth to continue arguing, only he paused as his ears twitched. Waving a hand to shut the two meatheads up, he turned to face the woods that Skelly had marched off to with Posnev.

He could hear… was that _squealing_?

“Wha’ is it?” Wheeze asked, staring at Melfice. “Ya hear somethin’?

“I don’t hear anything…” Elena said, red hue slowly draining from her cheeks.

Needles stood up, twirling his knife between his fingers. “You’re not an elf, Sister.”

“Neither is Melfice!” She insisted.

Wheeze waved a hand at her, dropping his voice to a rough whisper. “’E’s half, so closer than any o’ us. What ya hear, boy?”

Melfice continued to stare into the darkened shade of the woods, the dying light of the sun stretching the shadows to unfathomable lengths. “It sounds like… a pig? An excited pig?”

Wheeze dumped the stack of firewood to the ground and yanked his longsword from the sheathe. “Aw shit, I don’ feel like dealin’ wit—”

Skelly broke through the tree line at a dead sprint, a crude arrow sticking from his shoulder and a streak of blood running from his greying hair down the left side of his face. Posnev was running at his side, three arrows jutting from his side.

“Marques!” He shouted, the shrill cries of a dozen high-pitched voices carrying over the light breeze. He kicked up clouds of snow as he ran, Posnev whining as one head looked back from where they came.

Bursting from the underbrush, a crowd of pale white Marques came rushing out with terrible war cries, brandishing sharpened spears and bows.

Needles groaned. “By the gods, really?”

“Better to find them now then later, right?” Melfice asked, pulling his grimoire off his hop by the chain.

“Not complaining about that,” Needles said, darting forward. He pulled another knife from a sheathe strapped to his leg as he moved, a practiced maneuver he did with nary a wasted step. “But the little blighters are gonna stink up our camp!”

“Marques stink, Mel,” Wheeze said, swinging his longsword about experimentally, “’specially when dead.”

“What do we do?” Elena asked, clearly worried.

Wheeze rushed forward to catch up to Needles as he sought to close the distance between them and Skelly. “Feed ‘em to Posnev before they shit themselves!”


	5. Chapter Five

Marques were annoying pests to most people. The size of a human toddler, with long, lean limbs of corded muscle and large hands and feet, they were almost comical in appearance. Their torsos were pot-bellied, usually bare to the elements due to their general disdain for clothing, they could shift pigments in their bodies on a subconscious level to allow them to blend into their surroundings like demented chameleons. This, combined with their disturbing proficiency with sneaking about, made them able thieves.

The one piece of clothing they always wore, no matter what, were their face masks. Carved from wood, bone, or even stone, the masks of one tribe were vastly different from the masks of another. Be it a carved smile, a symbol on their forehead, or oddly shaped eyeholes, they were easy to distinguish from a good distance away when compared to a Marques from a few forests away.

They typically wielded heavy clubs, crudely whittled from fallen branches. Sometimes they had bows and arrows, though these were primitive to the extreme and little more than sharpened sticks that were fired by dried and taut animal tendons strung between particularly bendy sticks.

To be blunt, an attack from a group of Marques was generally a mild nuisance and nothing more.

Melfice knew this. And he understood this.

But as he stood there by Elena, flinging bolts of flame from his crackling fingertips, he could only swear at the snarling rats as they charged in seemingly endless waves at him.

Wheeze had caught up to Skelly just as the first troupe of Marques had, cackling as he took a long lunge and dropkicked one through the tree line with nary a grunt. He’d even been smiling as he’d done so, winking at Skelly as he passed him.

Then he’d been peppered with over a dozen arrows, a third of which had sunk into his chest and stomach.

He wasn’t smiling anymore as the other Marques, wielding clubs littered with nails, had closed in on him bellowing shrill war cries.

Needles had rushed in to render aid while Elena intercepted Skelly as he’d stumbled and fallen into the snowy earth. Melfice had ran up alongside her, casting a weak barrier spell over the her and her patient to shield them from any wayward arrows. While that felt like it’d been hours ago, Melfice knew it was only a few minutes.

“How is he?” Melfice asked, pulling energy from the surrounding air. Eladrin was a world of magic, and as a wizard he was trained in how to take that natural power and funnel it into useful abilities.

Skelly groaned as Elena pulled the last arrow out with one hand before pressing her other, glowing with divine energy, over the ragged hole as it gushed blood. “Stable, but I think these arrows were poisoned!”

Melfice grunted as he pushed more energy into his shield, five arrows clattering against the nearly translucent protection. “Not surprising, we’re close to the marshes. It going to be an issue?”

Skelly, partially sitting up, reached feebly into a hip pouch as Posnev’s two heads whined. “Shouldn’t be. I bought some general antitoxins from an apothecary, she said they would be effective against most of the toxic fauna found in the swamps.”

“And if the arrows are coated in viper venom?” Melfice asked, skimming down a page detailing his next spell.

Skelly frowned. “Then any treasure you find will be divided four ways, rather than five.”

“Don’t even joke!” Elena snapped, glaring at Skelly. “I have a spell to slow the effects of most poisons. Give me a minute and I can cast it!”

Melfice tuned the two out as they continued to bicker and watched as Needles cut the throat of another Marques that had climbed onto Wheeze’s back, only for two more to move to his side and swing at his knees. He let out a pained cry and dropped down as one struck with a resounding crack.

“Prince of Flames, call upon your furious servants and guide this lash to strike down those who would harm me and mine!” Melfice intoned, eyes crackling with arcane energy. Springing from the tips of his index and ring finger, a lash of smoky embers grew and uncoiled. Stopping at nearly twenty feet, he willed it to animate and swung it out towards the pack of two-dozen Marques hounding his comrades.

The length of sparking embers seared into the hides of four Marques as if they were made of wet clay, blood spurting out in wide arcs as the wounds opened their internal organs to the dim light of the evening air. Two didn’t even let out cries of pain, dying instantly, while the other scrambled to try and flee from the dangerous spell. One lost his left arm at the collarbone, dropping and wailing as he tried to hold his blood and seared lung inside his chest.

The other was cut off at the knees as the burning coil wrapped around his gangly limbs, snapping them like dry reeds. He hit the ground with a grunting wheeze, the air knocked from him in an instant.

Wheeze rolled his shoulders and swung out with a wild slash of his already gore-caked longsword, cleaving through two more Marques as they closed in on him. He backed up to offer what aid he could to Needles, who’d whipped a pair of slim daggers from his boots while taking a knee and pitching them into a brave Marques as if closed in on him.

With some breathing room, Needles called out. “Wizard, now would be the time for something more impressive than a bloody smoke whip!”

Melfice scowled, partially at the poor description of his mastery over the elements, the rest over the fact that the simpleton was right. Nearly thirty Marques had formed into small groups near the forests edge and were peppering them all with their crude arrows. While Melfice’s barrier was keeping him and Elena safe while she worked on Skelly, Wheeze and Needles were having to physically grab a struggling Marques to use as shields for the rain of death every volley.

Helped thin the numbers though, so there was that.

“Okay!” Melfice shouted back, flipping into the back section of his grimoire. “Give me a moment, this spell is a bit tricky!”

A dull roar came from the wooded area, earning a flinch from Skelly as his face went white. “We may not have a minute… that was a Render’s call!”

“What’s a Render?” Elena asked as she closed the last of the druid’s wounds.

The answer came crashing through the edge of the forest, knocking over two young trees with resounding crashes.

It stood tall, taller than any troll or ogre Melfice had ever read about, and three times as broad. Its skin was slate gray, pitted with hundreds of scars and old wounds that had healed over poorly, as well as crude tattoos that looked little better than pictograms done by a visually impaired child. It had no neck, it’s head jutting from between the massive shoulders. It bore no eyes and had jaws large enough to fit a wolf into if given the chance, lined with dozens of needle-sharp teeth that jutted up from violet gums erratically. Its arms ended in three massive fingers, hooked claws tearing great gouges in the earth as it bounded forward like an ape would.

It roared a great challenge, stopping some thirty feet from Wheeze and Needles to ball its meaty fists and pound the ground in an apparent tantrum. The mild tremors that Melfice felt from nearly one hundred feet away told him this thing was stronger than any natural beast _should_ be.

“That,” Skelly said, grunting as he stood up, “that is a Render.”

“Holy Hell!” Elena swore, shaking her head. Overcome with a sudden feeling of dread, she took a hesitant step back. “What do we do?”

Skelly spat out a growl as he flexed his hand, his sleeve sliding out a long-handled short sword that shimmered in the dim light of the evening. “What we do,” he said, breaking into a charge with Posnev, both heads baying, “is kill that monster before it kills us!”

Breaking through the barrier without so much as a backward glance, Melfice watched Skelly join the fray with a heavy strike against the back of a cheering Marques. The blade sizzled against the creature’s skin, shattering bones and rending muscle enough to drop the pitiful foe in a crumpled pile of blood and pain. Posnev leapt onto a group of three, teeth and claws gnashing and cutting into their flanks with enough violence that the minute demi humans barely had a chance to shout, let alone defend themselves.

Elena, resolute that her allies were now all in, stepped forward and slipped a hand over Melfice’s shoulder. “Give me the control over the barrier, I’ll keep it up.”

He nodded, relinquishing the draining spell. He didn’t know if she had the skill or expertise to maintain it for long, but he only needed it for perhaps thirty seconds. He was already running his finger over the old script he’d copied from one of the older books of war spells he’d “borrowed” from the Master’s Library in the Basalt Tower in the early hours of one morning while the rest of the apprentices exchanged gifts for some silly human holiday.

Wheeze pulled Needles to his feet, whispering something to him that earned a stiff nod from the other man. They then broke apart, sprinting away from the clump of Marques that’d swarmed them as Skelly hacked into them like a man possessed. Melfice could see the Primal magic roiling off the old druid and knew that he was doing something that would quite the sight to see if he pulled it off.

Elena groaned as the barrier spell switched over to her, the strain clearly more than the young priestess had been expecting. Still, she maintained it, wincing as she pulled more energy from the surroundings into the spell. Another half dozen arrows bounced off the shielding, showing it was still strong.

The Render roared again before dropping into a loping run, charging headlong towards Skelly. It trampled three Marques archers that didn’t have the good sense to get out of its way, squishy pops loud enough for Melfice from this far away told him that the pitiful souls likely died before they even realized what had happened. The Render howled as it rapidly closed the distance, rearing up into a partial leap as it closed in on Skelly just as the druid dispatched another two Marques that had tried to flank Posnev.

The druid, now wreathed in the crackling blue energies of the world’s natural magic, met the beast in a it’s headlong charge with a bellow of his own. He swung the blade, both hands white-knuckled as he gripped the long handle of the sword, intent on cutting into the belly of the Render as it dropped down onto him.

“No!” Elena cried, worried for Skelly as the two collided in a thunderclap of claws and magic.

Melfice felt the barrier flex and weaken due to her distraction but didn’t care. The boom that had been released from the two meeting had almost blown him back, and he was almost done with his spell and needed to maintain his own concentration.

The snow blew back as the two fought, Skelly raining down vicious strikes into the resilient hide of the Render with the now glowing sword. It crackled with blue lightning, each blow issuing a crack of thunder and the force of a lightning strike as the energy arced off the metal and into the beast, the round, and Skelly himself.

Skelly didn’t seem to mind as he also was wreathed in the arcing energies, a protective field that electrocuted the Render every time it slammed him with its titanic hands. The blows, which should have torn Skelly in half, were seemingly absorbed by the show of natural magic, though even Melfice could see the strain that Skelly was now under as he soaked the rage of the beast.

Blood seeped from his ears down the sides of his head, and his nose was running freely with the crimson essence. He shook from uncontrollable tremors, and patches of his skin were darkening as if he was slowly being cooked alive.

It was killing him.

“He can’t keep this up!” Elena shouted, losing control of the barrier fully.

But Melfice didn’t care.

He dropped his grimoire, the book swinging down to his thigh by the thick chain attached to his belt, and thrust his hands out, fingers splayed wide.

And the very air burst in flames before him.


	6. Chapter Six

Melfice struggled as the arcane energy rocketed through him, his body acting as a magnifying lens for the pure destructive power he was unleashing towards the Marques and the towering Render. The spell itself resembled a swarm of fiery orbs, each roughly the size of a plum, that radiated blinding light and intense heat. The spheres fly soundlessly, save for the low hum of power that seemed to resonate in one’s teeth, as if they were sensitive enough to notice.

The Marques barely could let out shrieks of pain before each was struck by two or three such blazing balls, the orbs bursting to reveal they were more liquid than solid. Said liquid was akin to lava, though it wasn’t molten stone so much as refined magical energy that sizzled through muscle, blood, and bone. The bulk of the orbs sailed around the Render and Skelly, locked in their electric duel, to deal with the small crowd of archers before they tipped the battle in the Render’s favor.

They died messily, bursting into flame as their bodies were consumed in the arcane fire. Wheeze and Needles had looped around behind them and were now dealing with the five or six that had run beyond the spell’s reach, decisively beheading them with looks of grim resolve. Skelly, seeing that the tide of battle was turning, grit his teeth and poured more lightning and thunder through his frame, bellowing in pain and rage as he was cooked alongside the hellish beast.

The Render seemed to understand that it was now about to lose and stopped attempting to hammer down the immovable pillar personifying a thunderstorm, instead turning to try and run. It’s arms and front smoldered, blackened by electric sparks that had arced from Skelly and into the monster. Smoke trailed up from its chest and face as it loped off, limping slightly as one of its legs seemed to have been charred almost to the bone.

Melfice, feeling the power of his spell running low, spent the last vestiges of the destructive arcana on the fleeing titan and turned the remaining orbs to splash into the creature’s legs. The effect was instantaneous, with over a dozen pulsing balls of liquid fire splashing into the knees and ankles of the Render, rendering its flesh nothing more than charred, useless meat.

It stumbled and fell, sliding in the bloody snow with a pained howl. Skelly dropped to his knees and discharged the last of the energy he will pull through him, looking worn, but alive.

“Might want to check on him, El,” Melfice said, taking deep, gulping breaths. “Time may be a factor…”

“On it!” She said, sprinting out onto the battlefield to get to the old druid.

Melfice took a few hesitant steps, making certain he wasn’t about to go lightheaded or pass out. Channeling that much magic was dangerous under the best of circumstances, and he had only ever cast it once before.

Needles and Wheeze were now circling the downed Render, the beast growling and swiping with the horrible claws as it tried to keep them at bay. Its arms were bloody, raw, and cooked, with newer wounds appearing every time it swung at one of the two. They were carving it apart, slowly and surely.

Melfice groaned, before stretching out his arms high over his head. He could feel the familiar leaden weight of Spell Fatigue settle into his arms, and he knew from experience that not trying to work out the forming kinks would work agony over him in the following day.

Leaning to touch his toes, he listened to the dying roar of the Render, weak and frightened. It sounded like such an alien noise coming from such a terrifying monster, but he mused that every creature feared its own end.  
Why wouldn’t it?

Twisting about to stretch and loosen his tightening muscles, Melfice slowly worked through a routine he’d learned over the course of his training. Unlike other wizards, who practiced more common methods of working out their fatigue (boxing was common), his master had stressed the study of Xoan Meditation.

Unlike the meditative practices of the monasteries hidden around the world full of sages and philosophers, Xoan Meditation was in fact a form of unarmed combat. It focused not on raw power or speed, but flexibility and weighted strikes. Swings fueled by the momentum of a dodge, or rolling with a blow to lessen the damage, Xoan monks were rarely trifled with.

They were also unusually chipper, largely because of the relaxing properties that came with being able to shrug off a day of hard labor with half an hour of stretching.  
“Wha’ ya doin?” Melfice jumped when he realized Wheeze had walked right up to him, lighting one of his cigarettes as he did so.

This was unfortunate, as Melfice was in the Arcing Crane position, which had him standing on his hands with feet planted and belly skyward. His jumping resulted in his stance being ruined, and him tumbling to the hard-packed snow with a grunt. Looking up at Wheeze, Melfice scowled at the light smile adorning the mercenary’s blood caked face.

“You haven’t even cleaned yourself?” Melfice asked, settling into a cross-legged position in the snow. “By the Gods, find a stream and clean yourself! I will not be forced to smell you as your top-coat rots!”

Wheeze gave a choking bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Gonna melt some snow, better than findin’ a river. Too close ta the marshes, could get sick.”

Melfice paused in what would have been a continuation of his rant to study Wheeze for a moment. “That… was oddly cognizant of you.”

“Heh, no idea wha’ tha’ means, just somethin’ El said when I said I’d be findin’ a pond fer me an’ Needles to take a dunk in.”

“And that explains that… now, what were you asking?” Melfice asked, resuming his stretching, legs splayed wide.

Wheeze motioned to Melfice with his cigarette. “All this? Why you dancin’ in tha’ snow?”

Melfice laughed. “It’s not dancing, you… no, it’s a method for me to control the damage I do to myself when channeling that much power.”

Wheeze’s eyebrows rose. “You got hurt? Need me ta grab El?”

“No, no I’m fine… part of being a wizard, actually.” Melfice chuckled, shrugging. “Not much to be done about it. That much magic coursing through my body is painful, can be deadly. I’m just not learned enough to wield that much power yet.”

“Seemed pretty ‘learned’ ta me when ya were huckin’ lava about!” Wheeze cackled, tapping his boot against Melfice’s extended leg. “Still… thanks fer savin’ me and Needles like ya did.”

Melfice paused, glancing up at the young warrior. “I beg your pardon?”

“I ain’t got much patience fer wizards,” Wheeze pressed on, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Never trusted ‘em, never rightly will. But you… ya went out o’ yer way to help me and mine. Can’t jus’ ignore tha, now can I?”  
“We’re out in this endeavor as allies, Wheeze, you don’t nee to thank me…”

Wheeze stalled his arguments with a gore-stained hand. “Now don’ be tryin’ ta talk me out o’ this. Jus’ nod and say yer welcome!”

Melfice studied Wheeze, taking in the many light cuts over his body. They were all scabbed over, but Melfice knew that El would re-open them to clean them out before they all went to sleep. Finally, he nodded.  
“You’re welcome, Wheeze… now lend me a hand? I think my legs fell asleep while we were talking…”

As the battle wound down, with Needles picking through the charred Marques corpses for anything worth looting and Skelly wobbled back and forth with the aid of Posnev and Elena, Wheeze and Melfice set about assembling the basics for their camp. Soon, an enormous bonfire roared in a shallow pit they shoveled out. A few stakes had been made and partially buried in the cold earth around the fire, serving as roasting spits for the Render flesh they’d carved away from the dead beast.  
Turns out the strange monster was very well marbled, and tasted reminiscent of fish, not in texture but in flavor.

By the time the moon was high, Needles had returned with a jangling sack of coins he’d pillaged (“A few had some hidden in their prison pockets, ha! Knew you were coming, didn’t they Wheeze?”) and a small gemstone that he’d flicked towards Elena with a smile.

“Payment for services!” He’d laughed when she sputtered at the offering. “Besides, don’t think any of us will mind losing a small bit like that to keep the gods’ blessings coming.”

“Just take it,” Skelly moaned from his bedroll, sitting up against the massive frame of a slumbering Posnev. “Donate it to the church if it makes you happy. Though from what I saw, probably seek some new boots. Yours look fairly worn.”

Elena mumbled a quiet thank you and began patching up Needles and Wheeze, slowly growing louder in her complaints as she found all the wounds hidden beneath the blood that spattered their forms.

“How in the world are you two walking around like this isn’t a big deal?” Elena finally shouted into the night, when her cry of alarm at finding a wicked groove of sliced muscle on Wheeze’s back earned a round of laughter from the two. “This could have killed you!”

“Somethin’ has ta,” Wheeze replied, taking a swig of watered-down liquor from the bowl between him and the priestess. She swatted at his hand, earning a scowl. “Ow, watch it woman, I’m injured!”

“No drinking my medicine!” She shot back, taking the bowl from him. “These wounds need to be clean, no telling what those vile little creatures had on those arrowheads…”

“Most likely feces,” Melfice said, not looking up from his grimoire as he read over the notes on the spell he’d used earlier. When he felt all of his ally’s eyes on him, he spared a glance. “What?”

“What… did you say?” Elena asked, partially horrified, the rest outraged.

“Marques… they sometimes dip arrowheads in their feces, to help create infected wounds should their foes get away?” Melfice answered, curious how they wouldn’t know this. “Come on, they hunt in packs much larger prey. You think they just rush it and take losses every time? No! They wound it with poisoned arrows than stalk it for a few days when it succumbs to the infections. How could you people not know this?”

“I did,” Skelly said, chewing on his flank of Render happily, “I just had the moral sense not to say anything, as I knew it would just upset Elena.”

“Why would it ups—”

“Those nasty little monsters!” She hissed, practically shaking with rage. “They couldn’t just be out making farms and living like good people do, could they? No, they must make creatures suffer, possibly for days, before killing them! What little horrors!”

“Now ‘old on,” Wheeze said, pawing for the bowl as he spoke. “Me an’ Needles, we use poison off an’ on, wha’s so wrong wit’ that?”

“Feces isn’t a poison,” Skelly said, a smile tugging at his lips as he stared at Needles.

Who was doubled over, gasping for breath as he continued to laugh? He held up a hand, as if begging a foe to stop. “N-no, don’t do it! Y-y-you’ll break the spell!”

Wheeze piped up. “Magic? We under attack?”

Melfice heaved a sigh, flexed a hand conspiratorially to emit a loose stream of pent up energy. Wheeze, tired and inebriated enough to be relaxed, fell victim to the spell in a heartbeat. His eyes glazed over, and he went limp, as if unconscious.

“Wha—?” Elena said, flinching at the sudden movement.

“Wait,” Melfice said to Elena before she could freak-out. He then motioned to Needles, who was still laughing. “Let him explain.”

She seemed put out but crossed her arms and looked to Needles with an expression of “Get on with it.”

Needles took a gulp of air and let out an amused sigh. “Okay,” he said finally, “Wheeze and I do use poison, strictly the legal kind that numbs a creature or knocks them out. Better used for hunting down a bounty that you need to bring in alive, you know?”  
“Makes sense… I use herbal poisons when hunting animals in the wild, to subdue them before harvesting what I need.” Skelly agreed, stroking his short beard. “It prevents unwanted injury and allows me to spare the creature I am gathering from, should that be workable.”

“Well… Wheeze doesn’t mind the nasty stuff. Stuff that makes you bleed out your eyes and throat, stuff that shuts down organs, the worst.” Needles continued, still amused. “Thing is, that stuff gets you a long stint in a prison cell, and I like to keep our contracts clean and legal. Usually.”

“So how do you get him to not seek the nastier stuff?” Melfice asked.

Needles gave a lopsided grin. “I lie. If you haven’t noticed, Wheeze isn’t that bright. That, and his social skills are primitive. So, when we need to supply, I do the shopping and make certain to ‘find’ rare and potent poisons for him to use, when in fact they’re the same alchemical glop that we always use.”

“And this… what does this have to do with us explaining what feces is?” Elena asked, crinkling her nose.

Needles motioned to the unconscious Wheeze. “Eventually he will go hunting for poisons on his own! Let him have some dumb one that he thinks is amazing, so that when he goes hunting for it he gets laughed out of the shops.”

“You want us to lie?” Elena asked, tone flat.

Melfice snorted. “This would be worth it.”

“It would prevent him from possibly gaining access to something dreadful…” Skelly mused.

“That too. I just meant it will be worth it just to see him treating Marques shit like powdered Belladonna.” Melfice smirked, nodding at a now grinning Needles. “Sounds good, we don’t tell him.”

“I don’t like this…” Elena grumbled as Melfice released the spell.

Skelly was just shaking his head as he laid back, and Needles was practically bouncing on the log across from Wheeze as the man snapped back to awareness.

“Wha… wha’ happened?” Wheeze groaned, slightly dazed.

“Blood loss, you just had a woozy spell,” Needles explained, waving away the other man’s worry. “You okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m right. So, this fezes… it a nasty one, is it?” Wheeze asked, looking at Skelly.

Skelly pulled his blanket up over him and rolled to the side to get comfortable against the large hound. “Ask Melfice, he knows the specifics.”

“Fezes,” Melfice said, fighting his smile. “Isn’t strictly a poison, as it also has properties similar to a disease. Makes you break out in a nasty infection as it…”

“Makes your organs rot!” Needles interjected, to a nodding Wheeze.

“Yeah, that. Nasty stuff…”

“Tha’s amazin’!” He turned to Needles, a smile blossoming across his weathered face. “We got ta get me some of tha’!”

“I’ll nab some in town next time I go shopping.” Needles promised.

Wheeze seemed pleased with himself, then his smile faltered. “Wait, this shit may not be tha’ effective if the Marques use it! I got hit by half a dozen arrows. How come I ain’t dead?”

Needles was caught, Melfice could tell, and intervened. “I’d wager that your good health, lungs notwithstanding, allowed you to resist this nefarious toxin’s dangerous effects.”

Skelly trembled beneath his blanket, Melfice just making out with his Elven hearing muted chuckles.

“I’ll make sure the shit I get is strong, all right?” Needles said, somehow keeping his face straight.

Skelly continued to shake.

“’Ow do you make Fezez stronger? Some kinda alchemist work ‘r somethin’?” Wheeze asked, wincing as Elena dug a bit too deep into a tender spot. “Ow, damn woman, watch it!”

“Shut it!” Elena snapped, bopping him on the back of the head. Her face was flushed, her eyes narrow as a wicked smile spread across her face. “As for how do you make Fezes stronger? Why, even I know that!”

“’Ow?” Wheeze asked, looking as best he could over his shoulder. Melfice cracked a wry grin as he caught Elena’s mischievous smile.

“Diet!” Elena chirped, returning to digging into his back wound. “Oops, a few splinters back here! This may take a while…”

“You okay Skelly? You’re shaking something awful…” Needles asked, looking at the trembling back of the old injured druid.

Melfice finally snapped, laughter breaking past his lips and echoing into the night.

Melfice had never been camping.

He never knew what he was missing.


	7. Chapter Seven

“So,” Wheeze began, gazing down the path splitting the snowy fields. “We be huntin’ a Marques… and we jus’ fought some. Call it a day, tell the lord fella the buggers didn’ have nothin’ worth looting. Not even much of a lie, truth be told.”

“No!” Elena insisted, unrolling the bandages from Skelly as they all broke down their camp. “Who knows what kind of mischief one of those… things could get up to if it was left unchecked with a possibly magical item!”

“Why you thinking the scepter is magical?” Needles asked, licking the edge of a newly rolled cigarette. “Smytheson mentioned nothing about an enchanted item.”

“The markings!” Elena said, nodding to Melfice as he walked back into camp, bladder now comfortably empty. “Melfice, those markings on the scepter!”

“Yes?” He asked, curious. “What about them?”

“You said they were Elven, and old ones at that, right?” Elena demanded.

Melfice nodded. “Yes, if the descriptions concerning them are right, those are older sigils.”

“Do they make things magical?” She pressed.

Melfice leaned back, thinking. “They can, I guess? Magical item creation isn’t my forte, sad to say. I focused more on combative magics and illusions… that being said, a scepter with old writing like that? Most likely enchanted.”

Needles swore. “Damn, we should’ve asked for more money! Enchanted shit always makes a job more difficult.”

Skelly heaved a sigh, breathing deep now that he wasn’t wrapped up in medical bindings. Posnev rolled at his feet, one head chewing idly on one of the Render’s ulnas while the other lapped at his outstretched hand.

“We wouldn’t just lie and say the job is complete either way, Wheeze. Have a little dignity.” The old druid chided.

“Dignity?” Wheeze replied, snatching the cigarette from Needles with a grin. “Nev’r had tha’ ta begin wit’!”

“It’s true,” Needles said, shaking his head. He started rolling a new cigarette for himself, chuckling when Wheeze let out a wracking cough after the first drag of the morning. “Seen him drink from a spittoon someone spilled an ale into.”

Melfice gagged at the thought, sparing a glance at the warrior. “Ye gods, are you serious? Why would you do that, you madman?”

Wheeze snorted, rasping as he exhaled a plume of acrid smoke. “Was thirty wha’ can I say?”

“You are likely diseased!” Elena nearly shouted, a manic gleam in her eye. “I was planning on checking you over before we went into whatever hole we’ll be forced to explore, but you can’t just—”  
Skelly raised a hand, silencing the priestess. “Enough, El. The man will not change overnight, best thing to do is try to teach him what is acceptable and what isn’t. Now then, we almost ready to head out boys?”

Skelly’s question, directed at Wheeze, Needles, and Melfice, was met with a trio of grunts. “Cooked up a mess of the Render meat,” Needles said, scratching at his chin as he lit up his new cigarette. “Wrapped in canvas, we got maybe an extra week and a half of meals for all of us, less if we treat Posnev.”

“Buried the shitter,” Wheeze continued, taking a long drag as he spoke. “Same wit’ our trash. Rolled up tha bags, got four tied down inta one pain in tha ass pack.”  
Melfice rolled his eyes at how crass Wheeze was, doing his best to placate Elena before they could hear a rant. “Mapped out the descent into the marshes, skirting around the woods as best we can. We’ll be stopping in a small village at the edge where we can load up on whatever supplies we need last minute.”

“There’s a village that close to the marshes?” Elena asked, packing up her medical bag. “They must direly need a healer to visit them…”

Melfice shrugged. “Small place called Czermoon. From what I’ve read, it’s an herbal trade village, has a dozen family's worth of citizens.”

“The perfect spot for us to lay our heads for a night,” Skelly nodded. “We should be able to make it by sundown if we don’t dally. Come on, Pos, let’s get going.”

The two-headed hound stood up at the command, allowing Skelly to heft himself to his feet using the animal’s weight as a brace. He wobbled, but waved Elena aside when she rushed up to offer support. “No, I have it. The day I can’t move on my own is the day   
I need to go in the ground.”

Wheeze gave a choking laugh, jerking a thumb at the druid while talking with Needles. “This guy gets it!”

“Druids man, they know how the world works!” Needles laughed, shaking his head.

Skelly joined in, chuckling. “Literally, actually. Now, let’s finish cleaning up. I want us marching in under twenty, we all clear?”

The rest of the party gave their affirmations before splitting up and completing their list of chores. Posnev ran between them all off and on, barking and seeking treats from any (“El, stop spoiling them! I need them hungry in case we get into another fight!”) willing to give them.

Once they started on their way, they killed time telling each other about what led them to being mercenaries.

“Me an’ Needles, we go way back!” Wheeze laughed, slouched in the front of their line walking down the road, a light trail of smoke floating away from him as he worked on his third cigarette. “Met ‘im in this one warband, wha’ were they called Needles?”

“The Iron Vanguard.” Needles supplied, strolling next to the larger mercenary with a carefree smile.

“Yeah, them. Righ’ batch o’ assholes, tha lot o’ them! The head bitch, Kassiora, she didn’t split loot wit’ anyone. Didn’t sit righ’ wit’ me, ya know?”

“Makes sense…” Melfice mused, looking up at the clear sky.

“So I cut ‘er throat and made off wit’ as much as I could carry!” Wheeze continued, leaving Melfice shocked.

Elena sputtered in rage while Skelly looked on with a raised eyebrow. “Such is the nature of this business, El. Mercenaries aren’t all kind and giving as I have been, nor as knowledgeable as Melfice. Most of them are dirty, criminal, and violent.”

“Yeh say tha sweetest things, Skelly!” Wheeze chortled.

Elena didn’t seem convinced. “What’s stopping you from killing one of us, then Wheeze?”

“Easy,” Wheeze answered with a careless shrug, “we don’t use tha same shit, so I won’t ‘ave to fight ya fer my own lot.”

“Huh?” Elena asked, looking to Skelly. Needles was the one to offer an explanation.

“The reason I didn’t turn him in when I caught wind of his little murder,” Needles said, twitching his wrist to have one of the long knives flick up into his hand from the holster. “We use different tools, so we’d never want the same thing. We make a perfect pair, he uses heavy blades and bows, I use light knives and cudgels. Virtually all weapons appeal to one of us, but we’ll never argue over one as we both have different skillsets.”

“Wha’ ‘e said, but not as fancy.” Wheeze nodded, motioning to Elena with his cigarette. “’Sides, you put my ass back together. No way I’d kill tha’ one fixin’ me up so much.”

“I’m not just a healer, you guys are aware, right?” Elena asked, annoyed at the conversation. “I can fight too. I just… couldn’t afford a weapon.”

“Are you serious?” Skelly asked, annoyed. “I could have found one for you somewhere, my girl.”

“It’s not important, I was just saying… we could fight over a nice mace or something at one point. Would you attack me over something so trivial?”

“Yup. Na’ ta kill, mind yeh, jus’ ta get tha weapon. Might need ya fer healin’.”

Elena let out an exasperated sigh. “I give up…”

“So what brings you out into the ugly world then El?” Needles asked, tossing a small bit of a ration towards Posnev.

Elena righted herself, standing tall. “If you must know… I need money. Or rather, my order does.”

“Your order? As in clerical order?” Melfice asked, looking up from his grimoire. “I don’t believe you’ve mentioned belonging to one.”

“Just that you follow the Red Harvest.” Skelly interjected, glancing at Elena for confirmation.

She nodded just as Wheeze threw the crumpled remains of his cigarette in the snow. “Who’s tha Red Harvest?” He asked, looking at Needles.

Needles shrugged while Elena rolled her eyes. “By the… are you serious right now? How can you not know about the Red Harvest and be mercenaries?”

“’Unno, jus’ don’t.” Wheeze replied.  
Elena’s eyebrow twitched as she struggled not to yell, and instead calmly explained. “My deity is the Red Harvest, an agender entity that reaps that which has grown full. Be it fields of wheat or lives lived too long, the priestesses of the Red Harvest are arbiters of when something needs to be ended.”

“Ended?” Wheeze echoed.

“Killed.” Elena clarified.

Wheeze turned a bleary eye on Elena before cracking a smile. “You jus’ got more interestin’.”

“Thanks?” Elena replied, unsure of what Wheeze meant. “But don’t get excited, only the High Mother can direct when executions happen so easily. I’m a Wealdenar, barely above an acolyte.”

“Wha’s tha’ mean?”

“It means that I am hired out as a healer, or as a mediator.” Elena said.

Melfice perked up at that. “A mediator? A legal one, for local governments even?”

Elena gave him an odd look before answering. “Yes? I’m registered with the church, and so long as I can get word to an area before I go, I can act as a juror and mediator legally.”

“And you’ve chosen to help close wounds on men that drink from spittoons, rather than acting as a mediator?”  
Elena gave a sidelong look at Wheeze, who was taking a long pull from his hip flask while fishing for another cigarette, before clearing her throat to answer. “I… I’m not the best at debate, or being a judge, okay? It’s easier to patch up people than pick them apart.”

“Fair enough…” Melfice said. “You all know why I’m here, just your typical roving wizard looking to gain knowledge, money for experiments, and notoriety.”

“Notoriety? Why in the world would you want that?” Skelly asked, confused.

Melfice shrugged. “Some more relaxed jobs wizards can get are as court mages. Even the smaller counties in backwater kingdoms have one court mage per government, and they always get paid well for relatively little demanded work.”

“Sounds lazy…” Elena disapproved.

“It is what it is. I really want to go into research, maybe create a few rituals of my own, something that can help people…” He continued.

Skelly chimed in. “I can understand the desire for wealth and expanding knowledge in the form of magical research… but to rely on word of mouth to secure employment? Seems a tad… unreliable if you ask me.”

“People seek you out if you do dangerous assignments successfully, right?” Melfice countered. “If you want to charge well for your services, prove you are worth the coin, right?”

“I know, just the thought of being used through only rumor of your deeds… it leaves a foul taste in my mouth is all.” Skelly said, shaking his head. “It’s a fine goal lad, one that I’m sure you’ll achieve. Here’s to hoping I help you along the path you seek.”

“And you, Skelly?” Elena asked, turning to walk backwards so she could face the old druid as she spoke. “Why are you risking life and limb for mere coin, hm?”  
Smiling at her dramatically asked question, he rubbed at his beard. “To be honest, I just like staying active. I too like to study, though my work is in plants rather than books. I can spend years figuring out how best to grow a sunflower if I let my mind slip… so I take jobs twice a year, both to allow my mind some time to wander and to get some extra coin for when I need to go shopping.”

“So we’re all here for the coin then?” Melfice asked, looking at his nodding companions. “Huh, guess we’re all just greedy then, huh?”

“Yeah,” Wheeze sighed happily, “Isn’t it great?”

The rest of the morning gave way to a cold, yet bright afternoon spent descending a gentle slope into a frozen mire. Great stretches of stagnant water lay to either side of the road, chunks of ice floating along the surface while great mounds of snow and frost huddled over the banks.

Czermoon was on the horizon as the sun dipped, bringing a heartened cry from the mercenaries. For Melfice and Elena, it meant getting off their feet and having a delightful meal. For Skelly, it meant new bargains to strike while also checking if the Render had warranted a bounty.

For Wheeze and Needles? It meant more booze and young village girls that didn’t know any better and wanted to upset their fathers.


	8. Chapter Eight

Whereas the lone tavern on the roadside was a fine example of a community coming together to create a place for others to come together at, Czermoon was an example of when a town should be shuttered and left to rot.

Walking past the crumbling low wall, composed of poorly weighted clay bricks that seemed to direly need a mason, a rather common sight greeted the group on Eladrin, at least for travelers.

A Waystation.

They were small, a small roadside shrine that had been built up to house the poor wanderer while acting as a headquarters for the Wardens of Rot. Said Wardens were clerics of various faiths, people that had joined for altruistic reasons and never had the wherewithal to advance in their respective church hierarchies. Access to meager healing magic and the basics of medical training, the Wardens set up sites across Eladrin, usually in small towns, and made their services known to all.

As Melfice rounded the bend of the low wall into the Warden’s area, he leaned over to Elena and whispered just loud enough to be heard. “Any way we can dodge these guys if you act like we’re your guard or something? I hear the Wardens never bother actual clergy members when they’re out and about.”

Elena slugged him in the shoulder, glaring at him. “Hey now! The Wardens serve an important role!”

“Wha’?” Wheeze asked with a yawn, loping behind the others after a day trekking ahead. “Ta serve as a dumpin’ ground fer rejects and freaks o’ tha church orders?”

Elena gave Wheeze a withering look, to which he just returned with an apathetic stare. “No. They serve as healers for at-risk villages. Places where plagues have happened before, or where the various church leaders across every faith think a new one might originate. They’re very important!”

“Then why don’t they get enough funding to do… well, anything?” Melfice asked, silently chuckling at Elena defending what Wheeze accurately described as a career-ending transfer for any respectable cleric or priest.

“They do!” She insisted, loud enough that someone within the Wayshrine must have heard her.

The structure itself was lopsided and old. It sat partially built into the corpse of a massive old tree, with several stone benches lined up in front of a blank altar that any cleric could place their holy symbol at to mark as one of their faith. Should they find the need?

A small garden, overrun with weeds, sat beneath the open window to what would likely be a large chamber with enough room for a dozen bedrolls. A man leaned out it, a cigarette hanging from his lips, and brightened upon catching sight of the group.

“Shit, he saw us…” Melfice grumbled. “Act poor, maybe they won’t bother us if they think we don’t have any coin.”

The man had snuffed out his cigarette, standing and walking through the room and out to greet them as they approached. “Good evening, my fellows! How are you faring along the roads of Kenosh this fine day?”

“Is it being called Kenosh now?” Needles leaned to ask Wheeze, who just shrugged.

The lanky man tugged at his waistband for the wrapped parcel of cigarettes. “No clue. Liked ‘em when they were da Republic o’ somethin’… they paid well, didn’t ask questions either.”

The man seemed put off by the odd exchange, but surged onward in his one-sided conversation. “Er, yes. Kenosh is like many kingdoms, faced with challenges and obstacles that must be tackled with the glory the gods present us.”

“That’s true!” Elena said, nodding fervently.

The man smiled at this, eyes growing wide when he took in Elena’s appearance and her holy symbol. “Oh, the Red Harvest walks among us! Surely you know the ugly head of disease and how quickly it can rear to gaze upon isolated villages.”

“Villages like this one, I imagine?” Melfice asked, knowing what was coming.

The man nodded, a wide grin breaking across his lined face. “! But, my stalwart young friends, with a donation of but a few gold, you can make certain that this village never faces such horrors!”

“You’ll cure all disease with a few gold?” Melfice asked, surprised.

The man faltered once more, stumbling over his next words. “Um, n-no… not so m-much, dear sir. It would allow us to buy medicines and tonics to aid those who succumb to an illness…”

“So, the village would sill face the horrors of disease, but with our help you might save all of them from certain death?” Melfice asked, arms crossed.

Elena glared at Melfice all while the man tried his best to answer the questions. “We would do our best to stave off any waves of illness should they crop up. That’s our role, dear boy!”  
Melfice snorted. “And you’re going to do this with a few gold coins per group of travelers, acolyte wash-outs, and a can-do attitude?”

“Melfice!” Elena shrieked, making everyone jump in surprise.

“Damn,” Wheeze said, looking far more awake and alert after Elena’s outburst. “El’s got some lungs in ‘er, doesn’t she?”

“I… hate… jump scares!” Needles coughed, clutching his chest as he struggled to lean against Wheeze.

Melfice, his own ears far more in tune with the ways of the world, felt as if he’d been clubbed in the head’s side with how loud that cry had been. He found himself dizzy and stumbled a bit as he tried to remain standing. His knees gave out as a pair of powerful arms slipped up under his arms to keep him from dropping.

“Oof! Sister, you almost killed your Elf friend here!” It was the man, still sounding cheerful and friendly as he dragged Melfice off the road and into the Wayshrine. “By the Gods above, how high can you get that voice of yours?”

Melfice could barely register the mix of pride and fear in Elena’s voice as she answered. “I was in the temple choir for years, especially when my martial training had to be cut back.”

“Really?” Skelly said from somewhere close by. Melfice could tell they were close to a fire, as the cold that had seeped into his flesh over hours of walking down a snow-laden road grew loose and warm. “You seemed to believe you could hold your own, if some talk we had gotten here was any sign.”

“Oh, with a mace and shield I’m a right terror, make no mistake.” Elena said, her voice close enough that Melfice felt that she was likely leaning over him to inspect for any injuries. “Huh, little of blood coming from his ears… and they’re so pointy!”

“He’s a half-breed, huh?” The man said as they lay a damp cloth over Melfice’s eyes. He groaned in response, though whether it was towards the soothing cloth or the disdain in the words, he couldn’t say.

“You can tell that easily?” Elena asked, surprised.

Melfice heard Skelly snort, and what he would guess was Posnev panting and… licking something?

Best not to think too deep on that one… Melfice thought as he listened to Skelly.

“You’re young,” the old druid began. His tone was tired, resigned. Like he’d said the same thing many times before and knew he’d say it many more before he died. “The Elves are… weird? That’s a fine word for them, I’d say. What do you think Melfice weird explains half your ancestry?”

Melfice groaned.

“One groan for yes, two for no.” Skelly replied, before adding. “Please?”

Melfice rolled his eyes beneath the cloth, an action that made him nauseous all over again, before letting out a long and low groan.

“Ah, yes… weird. The Elves have concerns about their more notable bloodlines losing their inborn powers. They fear that offspring made from an elf and a human could cause squandered blood powers… something that they all take great pride in.”

“Blood powers?” Elena’s voice sounded concerned.

Melfice didn’t like that.

The man, sounding equally tired, answered. “The Elves have a few dozen notable bloodlines, all centered on one of their ruling class of elite. We call them Noble Houses, but the Elves have an unfamiliar word for it in their flower-speak.”

“These Noble Houses made it to where conceiving mixed-race children was illegal and began putting down the half-bloods that they knew were around in their societies.”

“That’s horrible!” Melfice felt a little better knowing Elena thought his past suffering was terrible.

“Led to a civil war,” Skelly said. Melfice could picture him leaning back to look up, a sight he’d observed a couple times during the day’s hike.  
It meant he was thinking.

“A civil war? Among the Elves? Why haven’t I heard of it?” Elena asked, sounding somewhat skeptical.

“Tha’s a good question,” Wheeze chimed in, his rasping voice startling Melfice. “Like ta think me an’ Needles woulda been invited to a war, if’n one was happenin’ anywhere worth goin’.”

“Yeah,” Needles chimed in, “Elves pay big. Wouldn’t have turned that bid down.”  
Melfice could feel the tension that had grown, a tension only the older people in the building could feel. They knew what had happened and knew of how taboo it was to speak of it.

“It happened before your times, I’m afraid.” Skelly said, his tone diplomatic. “The Elves had their war, and roughly a quarter of their number were in the ground, and another quarter exiled.”

“Exiled?” Elena said over Wheeze’s grumblings. “For what?”

“For saying people like me shouldn’t be killed just for our parent’s sexual predilections.” Melfice groaned, the very words ringing in his head even as he spoke them. “Elena, be a dear?”

“What is it?” She asked, and he could tell she was within arm’s reach.

“Stick to hitting my arm,” he said dryly, earning chuckles from around the room. “That scream of yours should be considered a weapon.”

Elena responded by smacking him in the chest. “Ow, dammit woman, I’m injured!”

“Hey now!” Wheeze chortled from close by. “She’s jus’ doin’ her job there, ain’t she?”

“She’s a healer!” Melfice argued, pulling the damp cloth from off his eyes.

They were in the small Wayshrine. It was a simple room, with a doorless closet off to the side stocked with sealed jars of meat and fruit. A small fire crackled in a metal brazier between four cots. Melfice was dominating one of them, as they were small even for his Elven frame, and the others were holding the man, Skelly, and Needles.

Which means Wheeze was closer than Melfice really liked.

“She’s a Harvester, ain’t she?” Wheeze asked, leaning into Melfice’s blurry vision like an image pulled from a drunk’s nightmare. “She is lookin’ ya over, ta see if’n ya be ripe.”

“What in the- are you saying she’s going to finish me after knocking me down?”

Wheeze laughed even as Elena sputtered in outrage. “Tha’ be tha right thing ta do! Leavin’ ya alive after a kick ta tha dick like tha’? Can’t be done, yer too dangerous.”

Melfice rolled his head back to look at Elena, who looked even angrier than she had when she’d let loose her birdlike shriek. “Hey now, if you’re going to scream, go scream at him outside. My ears are still tender.”

Elena scowled at Melfice, before turning and stomping over to the Warden of Rot. “I am so sorry for my friend, my name is Elena Leafmender. I serve the Red Harvest.”

The man, who’d been chuckling at something Skelly had said to him on the side, turned to regard Elena before nodding and responding. “Greetings Sister Elena, may the Red Harvest start with your passing! My name is Rafael Cummings. I serve the Patterner.”

Elena inclined her head. “Greetings Brother Rafael, may your plans come to fruition at the exact moment need.”

The two remained somberly silent for a long moment before Elena descended into chuckles. “‘May the Red Harvest begins with my passing?’ Felt like stroking my ego, did you?”

Rafael had the decency to blush a scant bit. “Look, I was in training over forty years ago. For nine years. I was not an outstanding student. I remembered that greeting and the one your lot recites when putting a criminal to death. Which one would you have gone with, in my shoes?”

“Okay,” Elena said after a half-second of consideration. “You made the right call. Threatening my soul with eternal night isn’t a great way to greet someone.”

“Sound’s more interestin’ than tha’ little dance ya’ll jus’ did.” Wheeze muttered, patting his vest for something. “Blast, can’t find me matches… Needles?”

“Only got a few left,” Needles said, shaking his head. “If’n we can’t find more in this cesspool; you’ll be smoking when I smoke.”

“Calm down, brothers, I have plenty of matches…” Rafael said, standing up from the cot and stretching. “Gods be damned, I’m getting old…”

“You look good for someone of your age…” Melfice said, sitting up to stare at the older priest. “Good parentage?”

Rafael returned the stare with a leveled a look of his own. “I wouldn’t say so, and I imagine you wouldn’t either.”

“Likely not,” Melfice said before dropping back onto the cot. “El, you see my sack anywhere close by?”

“Heh heh…” Wheeze chuckled around an unlit cigarette, following Rafael to the closet.

“Shut it.” She growled after Wheeze before turning to Melfice. “Yeah, why? You dropped like a stone and we just kind of… scooped you up. Sorry.”

“Grab my bag and fish out my money bag. Toss the good Brother five or six silver.” He fought a smile as he watched her face light up.

“Oh my, what brought this all on? I thought you didn’t approve of the Wardens!”

“Oh, not paying him for any of his charity work,” Melfice said, getting ready to defend himself should Elena get violent. “I figured I’d pay the man who helped me get a woman scream my name like that.”

Everyone paused, the room silent save for a light breeze buffeting a few banners hanging in the doorframe.

Then Wheeze started cackling. Hoarse, rasping laughter that sounded more like choking than anything resembling mirth.

Skelly lunged from his cot and slipped his arms around Elena’s waist, lifting her as her surprise gave way to rage.

“You little! I will kill you, you gods-be-damned Elven piece of shit!” She shouted, voice shrill and cutting.

Melfice had rolled onto his side, cramming the old pillow over his head as he weathered the woman’s pealing shrieks as best he could.

Cackling and in pain.


End file.
